


Disgustingly peaceful

by Logans_onsie



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Logans_onsie/pseuds/Logans_onsie
Kudos: 2





	Disgustingly peaceful

I blinked once more to make sure they were real and they were there . It was dark, only a slit of light from the moon glowing through the windows was brightening the natural shine of their skin. It was peaceful. Quiet, silent but suffocatingly peaceful. It felt awfully natural too. I took a deep breath through my nose, holding it before letting it out. How did I end up here? When did everything I did become so grossly domesticated? 

I shifted upright, lightly swinging my legs over the bed, my feet softly crashing with the familiar carpet. I trudged out of the room, my hoodie being my only protection from the sting of the cold winter air. I don’t think I decided where I was going, as unconsciously I slipped on my closest pair of shoes. My brain was on autopilot and who was I to stop myself? 

The roof. An instinctive habit I always return to when contemplating something I find rather idiotic. It was nothing special. A cheap pairing of garden chairs occupied a far corner, an superfluous ashtray placed carelessly in the middle. Bitter and harsh, the wind had no mercy on my face, blood probably rushing to my cheeks. I could guess why I felt the automatic need to come up here. It was everything I wasn’t; something that balanced me out. I had the tendency to be loud. I was snobby, annoying, vexatious. Up here was contradictory to myself. Despite the buzz of city cars and harsh city lights I’d quickly become accustomed to, it was unostentatious. It was simple and plain. It served absolutely no purpose but it was so unbelievably important to someone as unimportant as me. 

Thoughts of my day rushed through my head, running as if they were in some sort of marathon I was unaware was taking place. Breathing was calming, yet I was still unplacid. Whether or not I wanted to, memories of failure and defeat sprung to the front of my mind despite the events having happened months, some even years ago. Trust myself to drag myself to a mindset I’d rather not be in. It’s a common error I had no idea how to correct. It’s simply confusing, unnerving and, at the very least, unnecessary. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my train of thought was more like a horse race, seeing which disappointment could make me feel the worse first. Today’s contenders were, _why was I ruining a completely normal person?_ and _why couldn’t I save myself from being ruined?_ It would be a tough race indeed.

But lets start with the latter mistake: myself. I’m not considering me personally to be anyone worth knowing, in fact I’m someone you’d disassociate yourself with simply because I wasn’t worth slowing down for. A perplexing mix of meds, yelling, cussing and self-depreciation, to put it in its simplistic form, I’m not a fascinating person. I’m what society calls a train-wreck, a laughable excuse for a functioning member of a community. 

So when someone stumbled into my life and treated me like a work or art, a work of god, it’s easy to see why I’d be confused. Why, out of a few billion people in the world, were they so infatuated with me? You’d assume they’d see past the ‘bad things’ of a person, the bad parts of me. But through the self-hatred and hatred of other people, there...isn’t anything to me at all. Perhaps, you’d say, they’d focus on my likes and dislikes. Nonetheless, my dislikes strongly outweigh my likes. I dislike work, I dislike the outdoors, I dislike social interaction as a whole. I dislike people in my space, I dislike people in my life, I dislike people in my head in spite of all that I couldn’t get _them_ out. But I wasn’t complaining. Maybe that’s what’s most terrifying. I dislike everyone and everything, but I’m practically going hysterically over one singular person who managed to worm themselves into my world. 

I hated it. But I hadn’t even provided effort into removing them. So who was infatuated with who? Was I lucidly making everything more difficult than necessary? Why was everything made to be so fatiguing? 

Another deep breath, a translucent fog of breath escaping and dancing away in the breeze. How monotonous. 

My shoes scraped the gravelly top of the roof as I retreated a few steps, taking in the sight of the conurbation, my eyes drifting up until it faded into the dark sky. Closing my eyes, I took one last breath, finally becoming more phlegmatic. I fully turned and my mind was set back into its normal function. I lazily strolled back to my room, discarding my shoes as I returned. 

The recrudescence of whatever I decided I didn’t care and rather confuted for to feel would have to wait. I was tired. I was trying to be quiet, oppugnant of myself for another time. I slipped myself back underneath the customary feeling of my blanket. 

And everything was as I left it, as if I hadn’t even left it at all. It was still dark, the moon still flowed, and their natural beauty had only made me grow fonder of them. I wonder when admiration and friendship turned into something I couldn’t bare to handle. I knew I was treating this as a fragile piece of glass, to delicate and ornate to touch incase of it shattering to nothing right infringe of me. 

Can you blame me though? For someone who’s been so alone, so left out, so uninteresting, so idiosyncratic and so detached from the rest of the world, could some company hurt? Perhaps it could. Maybe when they decide I’m no longer infatuating, they’ll predictably pack up and leave without a trace of their presence in the first place. A pessimistic way of thinking, but when have I ever been better? 

I’ve been worse, or at least I think I have. It’s cliche and tedious but finding someone like them has made me better. I really do hate it, but it’s the truth. So when they leave and I become shattered, I hope we were a pretty enough sight before the glass broke, before the painting split, before the tranquility became commotion, before I blinked and they were gone.


End file.
